


Uppercut

by dansunedisco



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, BAMF Lydia Martin, Cage Fighter!Cora Hale, Cage Fights, F/F, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2452976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cora Hale was a winner, and Lydia Martin only had winners on her roster.</p><p>Or: Lydia Martin works for a PR firm. Cora Hale is a werewolf cage fighter with an image problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uppercut

“What—hey, where are we going?” 

“The locker room,” Lydia replied, the _duh_ heavily implied. She’d already slipped by the security guards with a sweet, if overly saccharine smile, and a stolen press pass. _Elizabeth Allen_ was a brunette, and resembled her exactly in the respect that they were both female, but waving the pass around and holding up a five thousand dollar Nikon had been persuasive enough. It was just too easy sometimes. 

“Still doesn’t explain—” Stiles tugged at the lanyard hanging around his neck, “—why you had me ditch Scott tonight.”

“Every professional has an aid, and you’re mine,” she said, and proved her point by handing him her camera bag. “And don’t try to tell me you two were planning on being productive.” 

“Productivity is relative. Exponential, even,” he said, and slung the bag strap over his shoulder. “So, what con are we trying to pull, Lyds?”

“It’s Elizabeth tonight, and _we_ aren’t doing anything. I’m signing my new client. You’re going to watch my back.”

“A new client? But… this is a stadium.” He narrowed his eyes. “Last I checked, you still worked for that ritzy PR firm, squirreling away businessmen and their cocaine habits. Why do they have you coming out for the bantamweight title fight?” 

“You have a brain. Use it for once.”

“Wait,” he sputtered. “You’re poaching!”

She rolled her eyes. “Reyes doesn’t have dibs on the sports scene.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but this is still a terrible idea.”

“Oh?” She flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Why’s that?”

“Maybe because Cora Hale’s a werewolf _cage fighter_?” he hissed, flailing in the direction of the hexagonal ring where smears of blood were still being mopped up. It had been a brutal fight, over and done in seven minutes flat. “Something tells me she might want privacy after nearly tearing someone’s throat out? Maybe? Ambushing her in her _den_ or whatever—”

“Stiles,” she said, whirling around on the balls of her stilettos. “She is _this close_ to breaking out of the amateur league. The girl has no image and no interview skills. In fact, she snapped a microphone in half last week. But she has talent. Raw talent. And I’ll be damned if I lose her to Reyes and her last season leather corset.” 

Stiles did what he normally did when Lydia rounded on him, and that was gape at her like she’d physically slapped him. Perfect. She patted his cheek lightly and said, “I like you better when you’re like this.” Maybe he’d catch the hint.

The locker room was easy enough to find after that, the door down another hallway and marked with a slightly off-kilter sign. She told Stiles to wait for her outside, and slipped through the door before she could hear him protest. 

The locker room was dark and dingy. It smelled, too; like blood and sweat and other bodily fluids she did _not_ want to think about, and a chain of fist-sized holes cracked the walls. She curled her hand into a fist and pressed it to the nearest dent. A human would’ve split their knuckles straight through if they hit the wall, but a werewolf—they could punch all the way through, if they wanted to.

“Who the hell are you?”

Lydia whirled around to come face to face with Cora Hale. She was still half-shifted, all bright beta eyes and elongated fangs, and looked none too happy. It was a look Lydia knew all too well in her line of work; if she earned an extra dollar for every client she’d turned who was _,_ at least at first, unhappy to see her, she would’ve retired ages ago. She schooled her features and rolled her shoulders back.

“I’m Lydia Martin, with—“ 

Cora reached out, preternaturally fast, and flicked Lydia’s press pass with her index finger. “Says here you’re _not_ Lydia Martin,” she said, and stepped close, right into Lydia’s breathing space. 

It was by the grace of heels and good posture that kept Lydia from leaning away. She smiled, the one that implied _I’m smarter than you_ , and slipped the lanyard over her head. She tossed it somewhere to her left. “I have a driver’s license in my purse, if you really want to argue.”

Cora growled, lip curling up over her canine. “I don’t have all night. What do you want?”

The thing about working PR was that it was real psychological. Before Lydia could get anyone to act nice and smile pretty—and never doubt that she could—she had to find their sweet spot. Lots of people wanted money, or power, or sex, and all she had to do was dangle the carrot to get the desired action-reaction.

No, it wasn’t what Lydia wanted. It was what Cora wanted. When she told Cora as much, the werewolf stepped even closer, herding Lydia back into the pitted wall. “I don’t want anything. I don’t _need_ anything,” she said. “You should go before I change my mind.”

Lydia would have been lying if she said being pressed against a wall by a sweaty werewolf didn’t have her heart beating a little faster than usual, but it wasn’t the usual fear and adrenaline combo. Nothing got her blood going like a little tête-à-tête. “You don’t want me to go,” she said, looking unabashedly into Cora’s eyes. “You can’t tell me you’re not a little bit curious as to why I’m here.”

Cora brushed her finger up Lydia’s arm, claw pointed away from her delicate skin. “Okay. Let’s play,” she said, tilting her head like she was sizing up her prey. “You’re not a cage groupie. You’re not a reporter. And you’re not the usual type Peter sends as a… consolation prize. Am I getting warmer?”

Lydia breathed in, slowly. “Scorching.” 

“Mmm,” she hummed, thumb rubbing a circle into the hollow of Lydia’s elbow. Then she broke out into a smile, much too predatory for Lydia’s liking. “You can drop the act.” 

“Which one?”

“The one that pisses me off the most—your choice.” She dragged her hand down Lydia’s arm. “Another one of you came by before my match, and I _don’t_ need a facial and a wardrobe change.”

“Oh, sweetie,” said Lydia, feeling very much like she’d been doused with ice water. She _knew_ she shouldn’t have bribed Stiles with dinner beforehand. “Erica Reyes and I are two very, very different girls.” 

“Maybe,” snapped Cora. “But you’re both getting the same answer from me. I’m not signing up for shit. Get out.”

Lydia held her hands up in (temporary) defeat, and Cora stepped away. “Got it. Here’s my business card, if you change your mind,” she said, slipping her card between the slats of a nearby locker. 

“I won’t,” retorted Cora.

Lydia nodded. Normally, that would be it. She’d say her piece, leave. No harm, no foul. She could be aggressive, but she believed in the long game more. Still, her gut was telling her Cora needed one extra push.

“Think whatever you want, but you’ll need me,” she said, hand poised on the exit door’s handle. “Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. You know you rub people the wrong way, and you’re smart enough to realize that throwing punches and snarling your way through life doesn’t work as well as it does in the ring.”

She left without checking for Cora’s reaction, and ignored Stiles’ questions the entire way back home. She was patient. Besides, anticipation was the best part.

 

 

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when Cora Hale walked into her office a week later with Lydia’s secretary trailing behind her like a harried puppy, but it was. A very, very nice surprise. Cora was wearing a leather jacket and dark jeans, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She looked like a greaser girl fantasy come to life, and Lydia knew that the _act_ she’d been putting up in the locker room a week past… definitely hadn’t been so fabricated after all. 

She stood up from her chair and extended her hand. Cora took it, her grip warm and dry.

“I’m not giving you a facial, and that black sports bra would be a _shame_ to toss,” Lydia said in way of greeting.

“I wouldn’t let you,” said Cora. Her tone was warmer than it had been during their first meeting, though it wasn’t at all what Lydia would call friendly. “Look, I’m five fights away from the Alpha league.”

“Four.”

Cora raised her eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I did some research, for fun as you do, and your double-booked fight five months ago counted as _two_ bouts. Not one.” She leaned forward and mock whispered, “You really ought to fire whoever’s managing you now.”

“That would be my uncle.”

“Well, he sounds alarmingly incompetent.” She smiled. “I already called and adjusted your standings. So, you only have four fights until your grand debut.”

Cora narrowed her eyes. “Why did you do that?” 

“Because these are the things you’ll come to expect from me, when you sign this,” she said, pushing an already drafted contract across the desk. She’d typed it up five days ago; kept it on the corner of her desk ever since, just in case.

Cora picked it up, gaze skipping across the first page. She looked up after a moment, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “This has you as my secondary agent,” she said. 

Lydia sighed—(did she really have to spell everything out for everyone all the time?)—and stepped around the desk to pluck the contract out of Cora’s hands. “Secondary on paper,” she explained, sliding close enough to toe the line of unprofessional. “Because the firm has a strict policy on dating clients. And I can assure you, you’d be a conflict of interest.”

Cora’s eyes flashed, gold melting away into dark brown. She moved closer, pushing Lydia back against the edge of her own desk, and bracketed Lydia’s hips with her hands. “I’m taking this to my lawyer.”

“You do that,” she breathed, then snaked her hand into Cora’s hair and pulled her in for a kiss. She tasted like cinnamon gum and chapstick and moved her lips soft and slow, like she was savoring every moment, every breath. It was undeniably hot, and Lydia had never been more grateful for a sturdy desk.

Cora pulled back when she was panting, her cheeks flushed red and her eyes burning bright. “Dinner tonight?”

Lydia nodded towards the still open door, and the blinds. “Close those, and we can start with lunch.”

**Author's Note:**

> Take charge Lydia + leather jacket Cora = <3
> 
> Hope you dug it!
> 
> -
> 
> Come hang out with me on [tumblr!](http://dansunedisco.tumblr.com)


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